


A Ramsay Bolton In Thedas

by ValerianCandy



Category: Dragon Age II, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood Magic, Blood magic means cutting and bleeding (warning for squeamish people), Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Male Friendship, Ramsay Bolton in Thedas, Self Prompt, male hawke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 12:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14332614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValerianCandy/pseuds/ValerianCandy
Summary: Ramsay makes an in-between trip to Kirkwall.





	A Ramsay Bolton In Thedas

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by this comment: ["Ramsay Bolton, what are you doing in Thedas?"](https://www.reddit.com/r/dragonage/comments/897atp/spoilers_all_what_in_game_item_would_you_want_in/dwptl9s/?context=8&depth=9)

The first time he meets Ramsay Bolton, Varric's fingers itch to turn him into a pincushion. His intuition confuses him because as far as he can tell Ramsay Bolton is an average guy. He wears a shirt and pants instead of armor, a sheath on his hips his only means of defense. Darktown is a place that gets you dead in a ditch for less. His mop of black hair is in disarray and his lips are best described as "two worms fucking".

In his head, Varric crosses through that line. It's unusable for his book series on Bolton. As soon as Bolton read it, he'd have Varric's head. Or he'd laugh himself into a stupor, who knows.. 'Bolton in Hightown' is the title he has in mind. He could go with 'A Bolton in your crossbow' as a nod to 'Swords and Shields'. 'Ramsay Bolton and the Apostates of Kirkwall' in case he wants to expand? Nah.

He gets along with Merrill though that's the blood magic. Blood magic fascinates Ramsay. No surprise they work on the eluvian in Merrill's back room with diligence. How Bolton roped Anders into their work is a mystery to Varric.

* * *

 He reassesses the last thought when he steps into the clinic one day to check up on Anders.

  
"Wait, you won't cut it off, right? I'm attached to it, you know." he hears Anders ask from a back room. Bolton's laugh sounds devious. If chest hair could stand on edge, Varric would skewer things on his.

  
"No. It's just leverage on your spirit friend. He's attached to it, too. Though I'd bet my right hand that your right hand is attached, too."

Varric holds Bianca in his hands without remembering reaching for her. He might be a dwarf, but a well-landed kick splinters the wooden door as if a Bronto head butted into it.

"Oh, hi!" Ramsay says, giving Varric a cheerful wave with the menacing knife he holds in a hand. His smile is wide and his eyes sparkle with delight. Varric takes his jaw off the floor and blinks, staring from Anders to Ramsay. Anders, strapped to an X shaped cross, naked as his Nameday. His man-parts don't look happy being on eye-level with Bolton.

  
"Eh..." Varric blinks again. "... Need saving, Blondie? Should I get Choir Boy to turn Bolton into a pincushion? And to take your confession while we're at it?"

Anders lifts his head and gives Varric a tired smile. Varric narrows his eyes and assesses Anders's condition. There aren't any visible wounds and the knife Bolton holds isn't bloodied yet. Doesn't mean they don't take breaks to heal wounds.

  
"No, it's fine." Anders says, his eyes distant.

  
"Ramsay helps me with Justice. To keep him at bay." he tries to shrug and winces. Varric's hands inch toward Bianca.

"How?" he asks, even though he'd rather not know. But he adopted Anders in spirit, so he's his responsibility and not Bolton's.

Bolton smiles and jabs the knife in the direction of Anders's man-parts. A click sounds when Varric readies Bianca without a thought. The knife hits the floor and Bolton shows Varric his empty hands, his smile widening.

  
"Oh, stop that. We both know Anders would be in bits and pieces if this was serious." Bolton protests, still smiling.

  
Varric is unfortunate enough to know it's true. He gives Bianca a last pat and puts her back where she belongs when there's nothing to skewer. Anders laughs at Varric's expression before giving him a berating glare, which looks odd because Anders is stark naked and strapped to a cross. Strapped. To a cross. Naked.

"Gah." Varric says, holding his hands up in mortification.

  
"I'll leave you two creeps to it, then. If you need me, Blondie, I'm at the Chantry with Sebastian. Singing the Chant of Light. Praising Andraste. Washing out my eyes with deathroot extract."  
Their laughter follows him on the stairs, even when the door falls closed behind him. He still hears in it in his head when his feet bring him to the Hanged Man. He wonders if he's made the right decision. He wonders if he should've been saving Anders from Bolton all this time, rather than saving him from himself.

* * *

 Bolton cheers Hawke on while the latter sprints through the Viscount's hall, in what Varric will forever remember as "the duel of running eights". The Arishok chases after him, his armor too heavy for him to be fast enough. In frustration, he throws a knife the size of Varric's arm at Hawke's back.

" _ **Hawke!**_ "

Hawke wastes no time and drops, rolling to the side. A sharp _crack!_ and his staff breaks underneath his weight. Splinters from his staff get caught in the link-mail that he wears. Varric winces in sympathy.

  
"Well, shit." Hawke mutters, eyeing his broken staff. The Arishok barrels towards him and he rolls out of the way without a double-take.

"Hawke!" Bolton yells, his voice filled with glee. His tone of voice and the gasp from Anders draw Varric's eyes from the duel. _What._ is all his mind comes up with, when he watches Bolton slice through his wrists as if he's slicing through butter. In a slippery movement, he switches the knife to his left hand and severs the arteries in his other hand. His eyes are still on Hawke, the smile still on his face.  
Bolton himself isn't a mage, let alone a blood mage. But there is something he, Anders and Merrill have discovered. Healing a blood mage is impossible because blood magic weakens their connection to the Fade. Someone a blood mage taps into, however...

Hawke's eyes widen when he sees their bleeding friend. He stares from Bolton to the Arishok who approaches with rapid speed.

"Damn it Hawke, do _something_!" Varric yells, because everyone will die if Hawke keeps standing there gaping as the idiot he is. When Hawke's eyes burn red, and he holds out his hands in a dramatic gesture, Varric wishes he'd kept his mouth shut.

With a shredding sound, two tears rip themselves into the fabric of the world. Fiery arms grab the Arishok's arms and hold him still. The Arishok curses in Qunlat, and Hawke laughs when he makes a ripping motion. The Arishok is torn apart with a swift movement, flames lapping at the pieces left. Hawke spins and looks at the other Qunari, who remain silent after their leader has fallen. Hawke, ever the sarcastic idiot that he is, wipes imaginary dust from his armor and looks at them.

"I hope this satisfies the conditions for single combat to the death?"

* * *

 "Um. Light-headed here." Bolton mutters, before he crashes headfirst into the floor. Anders eyes flash from Bolton to the dead Arishok in indecision.

He grunts, before he slams his hands together and parting them. Red energy burns between his palms. Sweat rolls from his temples as he frowns in concentration. He doesn't even hear Varric's protests, or notice him pulling at his sleeve in an attempt to make him stop. They have enough blood mages as it is, and if Bolton is foolish enough to kill himself, let him.

Varric's protests fall on deaf ears. He wishes they'd brought Merrill with them. But Fenris, of all people to grow protective of her, insisted they leave her. She was too fragile and naïve, he insisted. Of all the ways to fill the void Isabela had left him, Varric hadn't expected him to take up Merrill-guard duties. He should have, considering how Bolton adored her... or her blood magic. And since Bolton murder knifed Danarius in the back...

While Anders uses the lingering life force from the Arishok to give Ramsay his Maker-forsaken life back, Varric shakes his head at the memory of their showdown with Danarius.

Bolton had been cheerful when he suggested selling Fenris back to Danarius, and Hawke agreed without protest. Fenris's look of defeat and disappointment still haunts Varric's daydreams sometimes. He missed Hawke passing his knife to Bolton, too mortified by what was happening to Fenris. He didn't miss Bolton throwing the knife at Danarius's back.

Fenris staggered and stared at Danarius's corpse for seconds, before he'd lifted his head and saw Bolton. Bolton wiggled his fingers in a cheerful wave, a grin from ear to ear on his face. Fenris had wasted no time to catapult himself toward Bolton, tackling him. Hawke blanched and tripped over his feet trying to put distance between them. Varric wondered what was up with that, but forgot to ask when he saw Fenris _hug_ Bolton. Fenris didn't hug anyone, let alone the stab-happy murdering maniac of the group.

"Ramsay, if you ever do that again I'm strangling you!"

  
Varric looks up. The pool of blood on the floor makes him queasy. Bolton shrugs, flicking even more blood from his fingers. It doesn't help to make them less bloody. Or less pale.

  
"Well, it worked, didn't it? Angry Qunari is dead, Hawke lives, everyone's happy." he says, as if every mage they know resorting to blood magic is just fine.

The doors slam against the wall, groaning in their abused hinges. Meredith Stennard steps inside and takes in the room. A dead Arishok, two mages reeking of blood magic and a guy who looks as if he's come within inches of becoming a blood sacrifice.

Needless to say, Meredith Stennard is livid.

* * *

Varric decides the world is doomed when Bolton wraps Sebastian around his finger. It starts when they're running for their lives from a High Dragon on the Wounded Coast. They'd heard of troubles there, of course, but Hawke was the only one who got excited at the prospect of facing a High Dragon. Hawke would be, considering Flemeth's ominous prophecy.

"Damn it, Hawke!" Varric curses, while he tries to get a good aim at the flying beast. His bolts keep breaking into splinters against the tough scales and might as well have been paper birds. Hawke laughs and darts from drake to dragonling, wielding his new darkspawn staff as if he'd been born with it.

After the atrocity with the Arishok, Hawke took up training with Aveline and her guards to work on his endurance. His Mabari Dread nips at dragonling wings and drake heels whenever he can, but stays out of the dragon's way. Bolton named the dog Dread, telling Hawke that he reminded him of his hounds at home.

That Merrill startles whenever the Mabari is called has nothing to do with it, of course.

Heads turn at Sebastian's indignant protest. Bolton wrestles Sebastian's bow out of his grip, nocks an arrow and fires it into the dragon's eye as if he does it every day. Sebastian hands him another arrow without another word, eyes wide in admiration. It skewers the other eye with a perfect arc and the dragon falls. Everyone scurries out of the way, leaving the remaining drakes and dragonlings to be crushed beneath their mother.

A wordless cheer fills the air, and Hawke runs around to high-five everyone. Varric stands on Anders's foot to make him close his mouth.

  
"Pick up your jaw and start acting like a healer, Blondie." Varric says, and Anders gives him a sheepish smile in apology.

* * *

The door to Hawke's mansion slams shut. Hawke and Varric storm down the stairs and gape. Anders presses himself against the wall, panting as if he's the one who duelled the Arishok by wearing infinity symbols into the floor. He's trembling, covered in a sheen of sweat and his eyes are moist. A hint of blue crackles beneath his skin, but it recedes when he sees Hawke and Varric.

"Templars." he pants. "At the clinic. Burned everything. Even the patients."

  
"Shit!" Varric curses. Hawke grabs Anders by the shoulders, shouting questions too fast to follow. Anders shakes his head, staring at Hawke in fear. Varric's ears start ringing, and it takes a few seconds before he realizes what Hawke is asking.

"… Bolton? He's always with you. He must've been at the Clinic. Meredith _saw_ him standing in a pool of his own blood, Anders! There's no way they didn't attack him!" Anders blanches even more, stammering his way through an explanation.

"He stayed behind. Said he'd take care of it. I don't know if..."

  
He shakes his head, biting his nails in anxiety.

  
"He wasn't behind me when I got here."

  
Hawke curses and gives Anders a rough shove, rougher than he deserves. Anders doesn't catch himself and crashes against the wall, wincing and gritting his teeth. He looks as if Hawke kicked a kitten.

"Let's go, there's still time." Hawke says, a familiar determination settling in his voice. Varric sighs and pulls Bianca off his back, readying himself for yet another fight against Templars. He's getting tired of Templars and Mages already, and can't wait for both sides to go to the bloody Void and leave his city alone.

"Someone please slap the guy who thought starting a Circle in Kirkwall was a good idea." Varric mutters. Hawke opens the door and Varric's words are lost underneath shouts. Bolton stands on the other side. He smiles at them, holding up two things. Varric stares at the objects. It takes his head a few seconds to catch up with his eyes.

Anders lets out something between a whimper and a laugh and pulls Bolton into a hug. Bolton goes rigid, with his hands held out awkwardly. It takes him a few seconds of swallowing and wide eyed bewilderment, and not-so-subtle hand gestures from Hawke and Varric, before he returns the hug. They give him thumbs ups when he wraps his arms around Anders and pats him on the back with stiff movements, bewildered expression still on his face.

Anders pours over both the objects in Bolton's hands and Bolton himself. The objects? Anders's latest manifesto for mage rights and the pillow his mother gave him. Varric has to admit that Bolton can't be the psychopath he's seen in him, if he managed to grab both things while fighting for his life. Hawke might have made a grab for the manifesto; Varric and Merrill might have gone for the pillow; Sebastian would've grabbed a pile of elfroot and other herbs; Fenris might have helped the Templars set the place ablaze; but Bolton grabbed the most valuable things in Anders's life.

The imagine of Bolton stabbing his way through the burning Clinic, manifesto and the pillow tucked beneath his arm makes Varric snort. He'll write this even if it's the last thing he writes.

* * *

  _It's strange._ Varric thinks, while he looks at the falling debris and the burning Chantry. Bolton has done questionable things with no motive to speak of before, but evacuating the entire Chantry before it explodes? And yet, there they stand, looking around in utter confusion and bafflement. Chantry sisters and brothers, Sebastian who's thrown himself into a group hug, and Grand Glaric Elthina who eyes Bolton as if he is the Maker descended to Thedas.

Meredith and Orsino bicker in the distance, but no-one pays attention to them. Anders has a blank look on his face, looking from Bolton and the Chantry members to the burning Chantry. Varric can't imagine what goes through his mind. Regret? Relief that all he did was set a building on fire?

  
Debris crashes near them and Varric winces. Setting a building on fire isn't the only thing Anders has done.

The argument between Meredith and Orsino peaks when Meredith pulls out a sword made from Red Lyrium and swings it around. Orsino holds up his hands and backs away. Cullen takes a step forward to mediate and is shoved out of the way by a group of Templars and mages.

Varric blinks and blinks. He blinks again and the vision in front of him doesn't dissipate. Mages and Templars combine their abilities to restrain Meredith, who lashes out at them with malice. For every mage who falls under an unintended Smite, there's a Templar to help them to their feet and get them out of harms way. Varric sneaks a glance at Elthina. Even she's gaping.

Meredith huffs in disgust and plants her sword firmly into the ground. Energy ripples over the mages and Templars and they're knocked back, flying through the air and landing on the ground with a sickening thud. Orsino approaches Meredith, who takes staggering steps toward Anders, shrieking at the top of her lungs. Varric wouldn't be surprised to see her frothing at the mouth.

"The apostate dies! He dies! I invoke the Right! The Circle will be annulled! Templars, stand with me!"

The Templars take one look at their Knight-Captain Cullen, who's pulling Templars and mages to their feet, and back away from their crazed leader.

"Meredith, give me the sword." Orsino says, holding out his hands like he's approaching a wild beast.

  
Meredith _hisses_ at him, an unearthly sound that makes Varric shiver.

  
"Maker, give your humble servant strength to-"

 _Gurgle_.

Feathered arrows stick out of her throat as well as three bolts from Bianca. Varric blinks at the crossbow in his hands. He doesn't remember taking her from his back, but he's grateful for his instincts. Whatever Meredith had meant to unleash upon them, it couldn't have been anything good.

* * *

A slow clap sounds from behind them and Varric turns around at the sound. On top of a tall, imposing horse sits a tall and imposing man. The resemblance is there, and Varric's storyteller instincts tell him that this man is Lord Bolton. Ramsay spoke of him with admiration and a spark of jealousy. Varric isn't surprised that the man managed to get his stead on a ship from Westeros (wherever that might be) to Kirkwall. A bow sits in a halter on his back. One of those arrows must've been Lord Bolton's.

"Forgive me for interrupting. I am Lord Roose Bolton, from Westeros." he says. His voice is barely audible over the burning Chantry and outraged Templars, but Elthina hears him. She leaves the Chantry group and stops in front of Lord Bolton as he dismounts. The horse huffs and presses his nose into Elthina's hair. Elthina strokes its head without pause and Lord Bolton gives her a nod of appreciation.

"My son wrote about the situation here. At first, the trouble he is known to stir up annoyed me. I believed him to be here to ruffle my feathers, but now I'm not so sure about his motivations. It is... unlike him, to aid those in need."

Elthina nods and gestures to Ramsay Bolton, who looks at his father with a blank expression. Anders is by his side, standing tall and defiant. Varric can imagine what will happen to anyone who dares to set a step in Ramsay's direction. He remembers Ramsay's uncertainty at Anders's hug, or the one remark he made about his father nearly having him thrown into a river when he was a babe.

"Your son is a remarkable, honorable man, Lord Bolton." Elthina begins. Lord Bolton's frown tells a different story.

  
"He has done something none of us have accomplished. He united opposing sides, showing us that they can work together for the right motivation. He evacuated an entire Chantry. He helped put down the Arishok, and he helped to subdue Meredith Stennard."

  
Lord Bolton holds up his hand, asking for silence.

  
"My son is not important." he says, not even looking at Ramsay.

Ramsay clenches his hands into fists and Anders lays a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. Anders's eyes burn. If the Chantry wasn't already on fire, it would be now. Elthina throws up her hands in indignation.

"Your son is very important!" she says. She sticks her finger in Roose Bolton's face, and Varric hears Ramsay inhale sharply. Something tells him that antagonizing Roose Bolton is not done in Westeros. If Ramsay's method of "helping Anders" is any sign of how things are dealt with around there, Elthina should be lucky Lord Bolton doesn't rip her finger off with his teeth.

Lord Bolton looks at her with an air of disinterest. He remains silent. Elthina keeps glaring. _Good on you_. Varric thinks.

"I came to take your mages. You do not want them. I can take them off your hands and use them in the war to come." His eyes go over the Templar and Mage group and his lips move into a stiff smile.

"And this group. They stood against a powerful opponent, showing valor. My opponent is more desperate than she was. I can use you. If you wish it, you will be citizens of Westeros, soldiers of the Dreadfort. Prove your worth to me and you will live in freedom and luxury."

As surely as the sun sets in the evening, Varric can see that Etlthina and Orsino are impressed by the speech. Anders takes one step forward and opens his mouth to say something. Lord Bolton notices and turns his gaze on him. With a snap, Anders closes his mouth and takes a step back, muttering something under his breath.

Bolton turns to Sebastian, who's face is lit by the Chantry fire.

"My son's letters told me of your homeland. Aid me in my war and you will have as many men as I can spare at your disposal." Sebastian nods in silent gratitude and turns back to watch the Chantry burn, sorrow in his eyes.

Lord Bolton's gaze finds Carver, who stands next to Hawke in his Grey Warden armor.

"I understand the Grey Wardens are to Thedas what the Nights Watch is to Westeros. Would the Order aid me?"  
Carver blanches.

"I'm afraid not." Cullen answers in his stead, and Carver sags against Hawke when Lord Bolton takes his eyes off him.

"The Grey Wardens don't meddle in politics. Except for the Warden-Commander in Ferelden during the civil war. Since she's... Queen of Ferelden and all that..."  
Cullen blushes in embarrassement. Bolton nods.

"Is there a way to reach this Warden-Commander Queen in Ferelden?" he asks. Cullen gives a helpless shrug and rubs the back of his neck.

"Last I heard, she's disappeared. But King Alistair, who's also a Grey Warden, might send men if you... subtly suggested letting men of your own join the Grey Wardens when your war is won. He recruits as many as he can to prevent..." he trails off. Bolton nods again.

"My Maester will send a raven. You have my thanks."

He turns to Elthina again.

"Would Kirkwall aid me? As thanks to my son, for saving your... religious members?"

The man is good and he knows it, Varric realizes. In a little over half an hour, he's accumulated forces. Mages; Templars; no doubt the Divine will sing his praises for what his son has done; Grey Wardens and Ferelden's army if he convinces King Alistair (which isn't that hard, since he's rumored to be lost without his Queen); and Varric can't shake the feeling that Kirkwall isn't the only place Bolton will visit.

* * *

 If Roose Bolton's plight reaches Orlais or even the Tevinter Imperium... Varric can't help but think _I'm sorry_ to whoever it is Bolton fights against. Terms are discussed, glances between father and son exchanged. Anders's hand hasn't left Ramsay's shoulder and Roose Bolton's cold eyes linger for a moment. He disapproves, Varric realizes. It makes him dislike the man even more.

"I would have you know I married Wanda Frey and you have a half-brother, Ramsay." he says, putting emphasis on the words 'half-brother'. Varric mulls over it, confused. Ramsay always held himself as Ramsay Bolton, son of Lord Bolton, but if Bolton remarried and had a son... and if that son is Ramsay's half-brother...

 _Ouch_. Varric winces in sympathy.

"Had Wanda not provided me with an heir, I would've had you legitimized." he continues. Varric winces again. Grand Cleric Elthina presses her lips together at Lord Bolton's careless dismissive and glances from father to natural-born son. Varric realizes what will happen, a second before it does.

Ramsay once said that bastards can reach high grounds in the Night's Watch. In Thedas, bastards can reach the high ground of kingship.

"I appoint this man Viscount of Kirkwall!" Elthina says in retribution, gesturing to Ramsay. Anders smiles and gives him a little shake which startles him. He stares from Elthina to Anders in confusion until Anders whispers something in his ear and his eyes widen. A wide smile spreads out and he walks to Meredith's corpse, picking up her Red Lyrium sword and pointing it at his father.

"You want Kirkwall's army at your side, father? You'd better start showing some respect to those equal to you."

 


End file.
